


Dom/Sub

by wheel_pen



Series: Agent and Doctor [17]
Category: The Bourne Legacy (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dom/sub, F/M, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-11 00:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3308102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeremy’s new mission requires he partner with Kate Thomas, but they’re both having trouble getting into their roles. After watching Jeremy and Rachel interact, the expert consultants suggest she might be a better fit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dom/Sub

Quarles sat silently while Wollstonecraft skimmed the file. It wasn’t the most… unusual mission they’d ever had, he was sure of that. The one with the elephant came to mind. And he could certainly never think of Topeka the same way again. But this might be in the top five. Well, from a certain point of view. Certainly the average American citizen would be uncomfortable with almost _all_ of their missions.

He stopped his musings when the supervisor turned the file back to the beginning, then closed it. “Your thoughts?”

“High priority, low risk, quick turnaround,” she assessed swiftly.

“Suggested agents?” he asked her.

“I can think of a couple candidates for each role,” she judged. “My top picks are Kate Thomas and Jeremy Green.”

Quarles nodded. “That’s who came to my mind as well.”

“I’ll start their training immediately,” Wollstonecraft assured him, starting to stand.

“Supervisor,” Quarles said, and she paused. “The client stressed how vital it was for them to have the proper dynamic. They’ll be surrounded by veterans who will spot any fakes immediately.”

She stiffened slightly at his questioning of her agents’ skill. “Green and Thomas are both highly experienced at undercover work, sir.”

“Individually, yes,” Quarles allowed. “Being partners is different.” She knew exactly what he meant; she’d been around when they dissolved the partner system for the agents, due to too many… accidents. “Bring in outside consultants if necessary,” he added dismissively.

“Yes, sir,” she said, and left.

**

She was back two days later, and both of them were not happy. “I don’t understand, what’s the problem?” Quarles demanded. “Is Green not doing what he’s told?”

“It’s more Thomas,” Wollstonecraft was forced to admit.

Quarles’s eyebrows shot up. “Thomas? I’ve always found her sufficiently intimidating.” He tried to say this in the most professional way possible.

“If it were simply a matter of giving orders, like a general commanding her troops, Thomas would be fine,” Wollstonecraft tried to explain. “But the dominant must respond to the individual needs of the submissive with not just authority, but also affection.”

Quarles blinked at her. “Is this conversation about to get weird?” he wanted to know.

“Maybe,” the supervisor acknowledged. “To put it simply, Green and Thomas don’t have the trust and ease with each other required to simulate the proper dynamic.”

Quarles avoided saying ‘I told you so,’ as it wasn’t at all helpful, and he also wasn’t entirely sure he _did_ tell her so. But probably he did. “Elaborate for me.”

“Thomas doesn’t know how to deal with Green when he challenges her authority, per instructions,” Wollstonecraft described. “She just orders him around more. The consultants suggested a show of affection but that doesn’t seem to be her forte. Both she and Green just end up frustrated, instead of fulfilling their roles.”

Quarles pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is there another agent we could use instead of Thomas? What about the woman Green is friends with—Bates?”

The supervisor shook her head. “Bates isn’t dominant enough,” she judged. “Charlotte West would’ve been fine—“

“Obviously that’s impossible,” Quarles interrupted. As well she knew.

Wollstonecraft stifled a sigh. She didn’t _sigh_. “According to the consultants a true dom-sub dynamic can take years to gel. It’s not just a matter of learning and practicing a certain skill set.”

“Well they don’t _have_ years,” Quarles pointed out unnecessarily. “They have two more days, and then the client will be here to assess them. So they’d better come up with some kind of artistic breakthrough in their performances soon,” he ordered.

Naturally this was easier said than done.

**

In the practice studio, Kate crossed the tape line marking the imaginary doorway with confident strides, leading Jeremy behind her on a leash. They walked up to the bar and Kate started to order a drink from the bartender, who was actually one of the consultants. Then she noticed that Jeremy was still standing, looking avidly around the room as though it were of great interest. “Zachary!” she snapped at him, using his codename. “Kneel.”

He knelt dutifully at her feet. So far, so good. But the drink was taking a while, and then another woman—the other consultant—walked up to the bar, and Jeremy began to show a little too much interest in her when she glanced his way.

“Zachary!” Kate hissed, tugging on his leash.

“He’s a cutie, huh?” Leah the consultant asked Kate. “Is he new?”

“No, just badly behaved,” Kate told her peevishly. Her drink arrived and she picked it up, heading for a nearby table. She stopped in her tracks as the leash went taut and she looked back to see Jeremy still kneeling in place. “Get up,” she ordered him.

“Can I have a drink, mistress?” he asked her.

“No. Get up.”

“ _Please_ , mistress?” he begged.

“ _No_ ,” Kate told him firmly. “You can have some of this one.”

“I don’t like that kind,” Jeremy whined. “I want my _own_ drink.”

“Well you’re not going to get one, so shut up and get over here,” Kate growled, tugging hard on the leash. Leah made eye contact with Martin, who was playing the bartender; they could both see this wasn’t going well.

“Uh, Kate, maybe you could try letting him have his own drink,” Leah suggested carefully.

“Why?” Kate asked, clearly frustrated. “He’s not behaving himself.” Jeremy snarled right back at her and pulled on the leash himself.

Leah and Martin prudently backed away a bit. “Well, remember, you’re supposed to take care of him, not just order him around,” Martin pointed out.

“He can take care of himself,” Kate decided, flinging the leash away. She knocked the drink back, which fortunately was only juice.

Jeremy sprang to his feet. “You can’t _reject_ me!”

“You’re no good at following orders,” Kate told him insultingly.

“You’re no good at _giving_ them,” he claimed in return.

They were both getting dangerously angry and in each other’s faces, until a whistle blew from off to the side. Jeremy was the first to break eye contact and stomp away as Wollstonecraft approached, whistle in hand. “What is the mission?” she asked, beginning the drill again.

“To impersonate a dominant and submissive pair for the purpose of gathering intelligence,” Kate answered rotely.

“What is the dominant-submissive relationship?” the supervisor continued.

“The dominant is supposed to take care of the submissive,” Jeremy answered snidely, from his seat on the bar.

“The submissive is supposed to do as they’re told!” Kate shot back.

“So far you’re _both_ failing,” Wollstonecraft judged. “Green, why did you push for the drink? That was not appropriate.”

“I’m thirsty,” he responded, still sounding peeved. “She hasn’t given me a drink all day!” Kate rolled her eyes as though he were being stupid. “And, I knew it would make her mad.”

“That’s _hardly_ the right attitude for this mission,” Kate pointed out. Which was true, but she hadn’t exactly done a stellar job, either.

“We have been over this many times,” Wollstonecraft reminded them coldly. “It’s an undercover mission. You are playing characters who have certain responsibilities—“

“Why should I obey her when she won’t take care of me?” Jeremy wanted to know.

“Why should I take care of him when he won’t obey me?” Kate countered.

Then the growling started again.

“Stop,” Wollstonecraft ordered, perilously close to growling herself. “Let’s take a break,” she decided.

Jeremy hopped down from the bar. “I’m going to the cafeteria,” he announced, unhooking the leash from his collar and tossing it aside.

“Me too,” Kate declared competitively. “I want some coffee.”

“Decaf isn’t _real_ coffee,” Jeremy taunted.

“Let’s _all_ go to the cafeteria,” Wollstonecraft decided, not wanting the two agents to be unsupervised with their ire. Leah and Martin followed, both of them trying to come up with new suggestions for improving the agents’ performances. So far, nothing had really gotten through to them, and Wollstonecraft was beginning to wonder if this was one of those rare things that couldn’t be faked.

The ride down in the elevator was tense. Once they reached the cafeteria Kate burst through the doors angrily and stomped over to the coffee bar, while Jeremy went for the juice stand. So at least they were apart from each other, although angry agents in public was never a good thing.

“Jeremy?” He turned at the sound of Rachel’s voice.

“Hello, Dr. Ward,” he greeted with a scowl. She was waiting at the breakfast station for a waffle but approached him with a concerned expression.

“You okay, tiger?” she asked.

“My mission research isn’t going well,” he admitted, glaring at Kate from across the room.

“I see,” Rachel commented. “Well, you’ve got the fashion down. You are rockin’ the leather pants. And is that a dog collar?” She reached up to tug on it playfully. “Reminds me of a boyfriend I had in college.” This got no response and she rubbed his arm. “Wow, you are really tense,” she noted worriedly. “Why don’t you come sit with me for a while?”

“Okay,” he agreed. “I want an orange slushie first.” Jeremy turned abruptly back to face the juice bar and collided with Jill White, an unusual occurrence given how agile the agents usually were. Instead of just letting her bounce off and walk on by, however, Jeremy snapped at her. Jill snarled back.

Rachel pictured a dozen panic buttons going off, in despair. “Hey!” she exclaimed. “Cut it out, both of you.”

Jeremy was not in the mood to cut it out, however. The exact opposite, in fact. When Jill didn’t move out of his way he gave her a shove that sent her sprawling.

“That’s _enough_!” Rachel ordered, getting in between them before Jill could spring back up. “Get down,” she told Jeremy. “Do not growl at me,” she snapped when he did so. “Get down, now.” Grudgingly he dropped to his knees. Rachel glanced back at Jill, who was standing but didn’t seem poised to strike. Jeremy snarled again and Rachel whipped back around to face him. “Growl one. More. Time, buster,” she challenged angrily and he sat back on his heels, hanging his head.

“Jill, are you okay?” Rachel asked the woman, who merely twitched her nose in response. A quick glance up showed, amazingly, _no_ guards about to storm the place—and everyone in the room staring at them. Rachel hated that. She crouched down by Jeremy and rubbed the back of his head—he looked miserable. “What’s gotten into you?” she chided him softly. “Can you apologize to Jill, please?” He nodded slightly and Rachel stood aside.

“I’m sorry, Jill,” Jeremy told her sincerely.

“That’s okay,” Jill shrugged. Then she glanced at Rachel, who indicated she could go.

“Orange slushie, please,” Rachel told the man at the juice bar, who hurried to fulfill the order. She turned to see Jeremy creeping towards her. “Did I say you could move?” she asked sharply and he froze. Honestly, sometimes he thought he could get away with anything and she would just be right there no matter what, Rachel thought in irritation. She waited for the drink with her back to him, knowing he could read her anger in her body language. Outright _shoving_ another agent in the middle of the cafeteria? Why the guards hadn’t descended with tranquilizer guns she didn’t know, but they would have been absolutely right to do so, and Jeremy could be waking up groggily with a whole bunch of new bruises in a few hours.

“Thanks,” Rachel said when she was handed the orange slushie. She turned back to Jeremy and found him waiting exactly where he should be, slightly curled up with a despondent expression. “Here,” Rachel said, handing him the drink and rubbing his head. “Go sit on that couch and wait for me.” He nodded and trudged away.

Conversation in the room started up again as Jeremy settled onto the couch in the corner and Rachel went to check on her waffle. “It might be a little cold now,” the woman at the breakfast bar said apologetically. “Do you want another one?”

“No, that’s okay,” Rachel sighed. “Just put extra whipped cream and strawberries on it.” She grabbed some napkins and two forks, and carried the plate over to the couch where Jeremy moped. Maybe she should’ve sent him to a table instead, she thought as she tried to sit without spilling her waffle. And having a serious conversation while trying to cut through a mound of fluff and syrup was more than a little awkward.

“Alright, tiger, what’s up?” she asked him sternly. “Come on, you know better than to act this way.” She gave up on the waffle and set it on the coffee table before her.

Instead of answering Jeremy knelt on the floor at the coffee table and started cutting the waffle into pieces for her. Rachel sighed and rubbed the back of his head and neck, feeling the tension that was still there. “You said your mission research wasn’t going well,” she reminded him. “Can you tell me something about what you’re researching?”

“Kate Thomas and I are supposed to go undercover together,” he said, necessarily vague. The waffle was being cut into very precise squares. “But, I don’t think she’s playing her part well. And,” he admitted after a moment, “she doesn’t think I’m playing _mine_ well.”

Rachel nodded. “That sounds very frustrating,” she sympathized. She started to remove her hand from his neck and he made a little whining noise so she put it back. “You’ll get it, though, tiger,” she insisted. “You always do. You just get caught up in the details sometimes, try to make it too perfect. You should probably try for something more natural to you.” Rachel had no idea what he and Kate were up to, but the first thing that came to mind was the cliché of the newlywed couple who were really spies. It was kind of difficult to picture him and Kate Thomas acting that out in a convincing way—maybe that was the problem they were finding as well.

Jeremy turned and presented her with the neatly diced waffle. “Thank you, Jeremy,” she told him. “You want some?” Instead of taking the fork she offered he opened his mouth. “Now you _really_ remind me of a boyfriend I had in college,” she noted dryly. “I’m not going to feed you, baby bird. Take the fork.” He took the fork and seemed happy to do so. “You want to come back up on the couch?”

“Can I stay here?” he asked instead.

“Sure,” Rachel allowed, figuring it made about as much sense as anything.

“Thank you, Dr. Ward,” Jeremy replied, slurping at his slushie.

Across the room Wollstonecraft was busily texting into her phone as Leah and Martin watched Jeremy and Rachel with fascination. Canceling the order for the guards had been a calculated risk, but the supervisor hoped it would pay off—even if allowing Dr. Ward to get involved in the mission went against her better judgment.

“Who is that?” Leah wanted to know. Jeremy was now leaning his head quietly against the woman’s knee, clutching his drink peacefully.

“That’s Dr. Ward,” Wollstonecraft informed her. “She’s not an agent, she’s a doctor here.”

“Do you teach dom-sub behavior here, as part of the agent management training?” Martin asked curiously.

“Obviously not,” the supervisor replied frostily, “or we wouldn’t need to consult with _you_.” Martin cringed slightly. “I guess Dr. Ward is just a natural,” she added with some sarcasm.

“Well, she’s very good with Jeremy,” Leah observed. “You know, it’s not a strict black or white behavior pattern, the dom and the sub have to adapt to each other if they’re going to have a healthy relationship—“

“It’s weird, because I thought he was just _playing_ a sub,” Martin added. “I mean, we saw what he did to the others while sparring—“

“This wasn’t staged, was it?” Leah asked suspiciously. “I mean, if it was, well done, but if Dr. Ward can’t go on the mission because she’s not an agent, I’m not sure what the point was.”

Wollstonecraft shut her phone with a click. “Apparently, she _will_ be going on the mission,” she conveyed, her disapproval mingling with resignation. “Let’s go explain it to her.”

**

It had taken a while to explain the mission to Rachel, who just didn’t seem to get why _she_ was being tapped for it, or why people were discussing BDSM terms with her in a very serious manner. She told herself over and over again that it would be terribly rude to giggle and that she didn’t want to seem unsupportive of alternate lifestyles, but then Jeremy would tug a little at his dog collar and her face went beet red with suppressed laughter. It was a nervous response to the surreal situation—agents posing as BDSM aficionados to gain intel on a bad guy? What was next, Karl posing for _Playgirl_ in order to infiltrate Hugh Hefner’s mansion? The mental image was too much for Rachel.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized quickly. “Just—it seems so elaborate. Couldn’t they just break into this club and get the information, or shake the guy down or something?” Honestly it sounded like the setup for a slightly higher budget porn film, although she’d been repeatedly assured that no actual sex had to occur (“probably”).

“No,” Wollstonecraft replied stonily. Then Rachel tried to picture the supervisor posing for _Playboy_ and they had to take a short break.

Finally they went to the practice studio, Kate Thomas having been dismissed. Rachel wondered if she should be worried about that, about the other woman being jealous of her now. She shook her head and tried to stay focused on the scenario she’d been given—walking into a club, ordering a drink. She did not look at Jeremy on the other end of the leash behind her, because that was too ridiculous. Instead she tried to stride with confidence to the bar. “Cranberry and vodka,” she told Martin, who was playing the bartender. She hoped, futilely, he would use real vodka. Jeremy knelt obediently at her side. She wanted to talk to him while she waited for her pretend drink, to ask him if the floor was any cleaner than in the regular nightclubs she’d been to, because it didn’t seem at all humane to make people kneel on _those_ floors. But apparently casual chitchat like that wasn’t cool when you were playing the dom in public.

Leah walked up, pretending to be another patron. Jeremy glanced at her briefly but otherwise ignored her. She reached out to pet his head anyway. “He’s sure a cutie,” she remarked to Rachel. “Is he—“ Jeremy growled menacingly at her.

“He doesn’t like it when other people touch him,” Rachel told her coolly. “And neither do I.” Touching someone’s sub without permission was a no-no.

“Oh, sorry,” Leah said and backed off.

Martin finally gave her the drink, which disappointingly was only cranberry juice. “Can _I_ have a drink?” Jeremy wanted to know.

“Sure,” Rachel allowed. “What do you want?”

“A screwdriver.”

“You can have orange juice,” she countered, signaling Martin. He poured the drink with a dubious expression. “Thanks. Could I get a straw? Thanks.” She handed the orange juice down to Jeremy.

“Um, are you going to discipline him for growling at someone?” Martin asked, breaking character.

“No,” Rachel replied, startled. “She’s the one who touched _him_. He was just defending himself.”

“Okay,” Martin agreed. “The seating area—“

“Right,” Rachel remembered. She started to walk towards the grouping of chairs and couches—more doctor’s office waiting area than sex club, she would have thought of the upholstery, but apparently they were on a tight schedule. The leash went taut in her hand and she looked back to see Jeremy still kneeling on the floor with his drink.

“Yo, tiger, what’s up?” she prompted.

“That’s not really the usual terminology,” Leah offered from the side.

Rachel refrained from rolling her eyes. “Okay, how about… an expectant glare?” she suggested, trying it.

“You didn’t tell me to stand up,” Jeremy pointed out.

“I didn’t tell you to kneel and you did _that_ just fine,” Rachel shot back.

“I’m being difficult,” Jeremy hinted.

“Yes, you are,” Rachel agreed. “If I wanted to micromanage someone’s every step I’d go play _The Sims_. So use a little common sense, Jer-Zac—whatever your name is, and get over here.” She felt the retort lost a little something when she couldn’t remember his codename, but nonetheless her impenetrable logic won the day and Jeremy stood and joined her.

“It’s _Zachary_ ,” he reminded her pointedly. “It has the same rhythm as Jeremy! I thought that would help.”

“It’s so boring,” Rachel claimed. “Shouldn’t we have fantasy nicknames, like Midnight Rose and-and Unicorn Boy?” She snickered a little, noticed no one else was, and tried to calm herself. “Okay, scene two. We sit.” She sat in one of the overstuffed chairs and Jeremy knelt at her feet.

Then he turned to her. “I have to go to the bathroom,” he told her.

“Okay,” Rachel agreed. He didn’t move. “Go on, go to the men’s room or whatever. Common sense, not _The Sims_.”

Still he waited. “Can you unhook the leash for me?” he prompted.

“Oh, okay,” Rachel replied, reaching around to the back of his neck. “Good thinking, this could be a choking hazard if it got snagged on something.” Finally Jeremy stood and wandered off to the side, so apparently this was just part of the scene. “What, did I fail the bathroom test?” Rachel asked the room indignantly. “Am I supposed to follow him in there or something? Not happening, by the way.”

“You can let him go on his own,” Martin decided, “but you should really be more strict about it. He should _ask_ , and then you _allow_ it, but you don’t have to. You might choose to say no, he shouldn’t assume.”

“Right, got it,” Rachel sighed.

Martin walked over and sat down on the couch, Leah trailing behind on her leash. When he gave her the nod she knelt docilely at his feet. “Hello,” he said to Rachel cordially. “Are you new here?”

“Yeah, just passing through on a business trip,” Rachel replied, per their cover. “Swell place. Very clean floors.”

“Are you a freelancer?” Martin asked her, since she was alone.

“Uh, no,” she assured him. “My friend’s in the bathroom, he’ll be right back.”

“You should be more offended at that question,” Martin hinted.

“Oh. I thought it seemed reasonable,” Rachel explained.

“You’re a dom and you’re proud of being one,” Martin reminded her. “Try to project a little more… domination.”

“And you shouldn’t call him your friend,” Leah added. “Pet, boy, something diminutive like that.”

Rachel nodded and tried to get a little more in character. “No. _Clearly_ ,” she said huffily in response to Martin’s question. “My, er, pet will be back in a minute.” She looked up to see if Jeremy was, indeed, planning to return soon.

He reappeared finally and knelt on the other side of the chair, placing himself between Rachel and Martin with a suspicious look. “Did you wash your hands?” Rachel asked him, trying to be serious, and he nodded. “Okay. Hey, good boy,” she added. He cleared his throat and indicated his collar. “Oh, yeah.” Rachel clipped the leash back on. “I guess I don’t introduce him, huh?” she surmised, moving his drink to the other side of the table for him.

“You should make him ask for that,” Leah pointed out.

“Oh my G-d,” Rachel sighed. “He did, didn’t he? He looked at it and I knew he wanted it. Are we supposed to say _everything_ out loud?”

“Well, er, long-established pairs often don’t,” Martin admitted, “but since you’re trying to make an impression—“

“Look, I appreciate you guys are trying to teach me what you know,” Rachel finally said, “but let’s be honest, I’m not Angelina freakin’ Jolie here, okay? I don’t walk into a room and make everyone automatically drop to their knees when I glare. I’m not trying to dominate the whole club, just one person.” She punctuated this by snapping her fingers and pointing to the spot on the floor where Jeremy was supposed to be, from which he had wandered. He moved back quickly.

Martin and Leah exchanged a glance. “Well, you do have a point,” Leah agreed reluctantly, “that the relationship is individual, and maybe a more naturalistic dynamic is better—“

“You don’t want to be too far outside the norm, though,” Martin cautioned. Rachel absently put her hand on Jeremy’s shoulder to still him as he squirmed. “You don’t want to attract undue attention for—“

“I’m bored,” Jeremy interrupted.

“Hey, don’t be rude,” Rachel scolded him. She took the drink away as he reached for it. “No, you don’t get a drink if you’re going to be rude.”

“I think you and Jeremy have a really solid relationship already,” Leah observed. “You just have to learn how to adapt it for these particular roles. In the cafeteria, what were you thinking about, when you disciplined him?”

Rachel’s eyes widened. “I wasn’t _disciplining_ him,” she insisted. “I just wanted him to stop being aggressive, because someone could get hurt.” Jeremy squirmed and tugged on his leash and Rachel directed him to sit in a new location where he could lean his head against her knee. “And if the guards had come in—“ She shook her head, not wanting to think about it, and absently petted Jeremy when he nosed her hand. “Basically if the agents just _look_ at someone the wrong way the guards come in and the agents can get sedated or beaten up, I’ve seen it happen before. You don’t have to stay on your knees if it bothers you, you can change position,” she added to Jeremy, who switched to sitting flat on the floor leaning back against her. “And the agents aren’t allowed to fight back.”

“So you were protecting Jeremy?” Martin surmised.

“Right,” Rachel agreed. She moved her foot a little, a signal that Jeremy should stop playing with her shoe. “Out in the field the agents are very dangerous of course, but actually at the Center they’re much more vulnerable in some ways.” She put her hand on Jeremy’s shoulder to tell him to sit still.

“Well, maybe you should try to think of Jeremy more like that during this roleplay,” Leah suggested. “Maybe you’re thinking of him as an agent who can look out for himself—“

“Stop, it’s gross under there,” Rachel whispered to Jeremy, who was playing with the underside of the table.

“—when instead, you should be thinking of him as someone who needs your protection,” Leah added.

“He’s your sub, he’s vulnerable, he can’t stand up for himself, or at least not to a great extent,” Martin went on.

“Sit still for five more minutes while we finish this conversation, then we’ll take a break,” Rachel hissed in Jeremy’s ear, and he settled down. “Someone who needs my protection, huh?” she repeated a bit skeptically.

“Right,” Leah agreed. “You have to look out for him. You worry about him—you’ve taught him how to behave, but he might still get himself in trouble.”

Rachel had to admit this was sounding a little more familiar to her, maybe _too_ familiar. “Do you worry about me, Dr. Ward?” Jeremy asked, tipping his head back in her lap.

“Well, sometimes you do dumb things, tiger,” she pointed out, as kindly as possible. “Remember what happened when you were trying to be a vampire?”

“I believe I will eventually succeed in turning into a bat,” Jeremy assured her gravely, “if I find the proper altitude to jump from.”

“You will not,” Rachel countered firmly. “You will succeed only at turning yourself into a pancake.”

“That would also be remarkable,” Jeremy decided, and Rachel rolled her eyes.

“I have an idea,” Martin suggested. “You two seem to be really good at the nonverbal communication—“

“We are?” Rachel asked in surprise.

“Yes,” Jeremy agreed.

“—so what if we tried having Jeremy not talk at all?”

Jeremy considered this briefly and nodded. Rachel was a tougher sell. “Why wouldn’t he talk?” she wanted to know.

“Maybe you’ve ordered him not to,” Leah proposed. “That’s not uncommon. It can add an extra layer of challenge for a sub, or be used as a punishment.”

Rachel’s hands flexed on Jeremy’s shoulders. “I don’t want to _punish_ him.”

“Well, you aren’t, for real,” Martin reminded her. “But being forced to communicate only nonverbally might make him seem more vulnerable to you, and then you’ll react more in character. But all the while, of course, he’ll be capable of responding to any real threats that develop.”

Rachel was clearly not convinced, but she could feel Wollstonecraft’s impatience, and part of her really wanted to pull this off, just to show that she could. “Okay, let’s give it a try,” she agreed.

“Back to the beginning,” Martin announced, and Rachel went back to the piece of tape serving as the imaginary door. She entered the scene again with Jeremy on the leash behind her, trying to look as though this was a normal night out for them.

She stopped at the bar and Jeremy knelt beside her. “Boilermaker,” she ordered recklessly. While Martin poured out what looked to be mere apple juice, Leah came up on Jeremy’s other side.

“Oh, he’s so cute,” she said, patting Jeremy’s head.

Instead of growling, he whimpered and turned to look up at Rachel pleadingly. Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me,” she snapped at Leah. “Are you an ignorant tourist just here to laugh at the freaks, or are you merely incredibly rude?”

“Um,” Leah stammered uncertainly.

“Good-bye,” Rachel hinted, and Leah nodded and left. “Some people, huh, tiger?” she commented to Jeremy, straightening his hair back the way she liked it.

Martin handed her a glass of apple juice. “Thanks.” Rachel knew Jeremy was going to ask for a drink of his own next, because that was the script; but she still felt she knew what he meant when he fixed his eyes on her glass. “You want some?” she offered. His eyes slid to the bartender. “Oh, you want your _own_. Well, you deserve it, after being manhandled by that—jerk.” Okay, she didn’t need to bury herself in the part and start calling their teachers names. “How about some orange juice?” He blinked. “Well, you’re not getting any alcohol,” she assured him. “It was only a pat on the head. OJ or nothing. OJ it is.”

Martin handed her the glass and she passed it on to Jeremy, with a straw. “Okay, let’s go sit down and see if anyone interesting shows up,” she told him. This time he stood, sensibly, and followed her over to the chair.

“Don’t put your glass on the floor,” Rachel admonished. “Do you have any idea what kind of germs are on these floors? There was a study in the _New England Journal of Medicine_ last year about—“ Jeremy raised an eyebrow at her. “Too clinical, huh? Okay. Just put your glass on the table.” He did so, then caught her eye and glanced off towards the side. Okay, he had to help her out a little by mouthing the word ‘bathroom,’ but presumably in a real situation there would be a sign or something he’d be looking at. “Oh, okay, go ahead,” she agreed, unclipping the leash from his collar. “You can go by yourself, right? Don’t talk to any strangers.”

Once Jeremy had disappeared off to the side, Martin came strolling along with Leah and sat down on the couch. “I don’t remember seeing you here before,” he opened, with a sleazy/flirtatious vibe.

Rachel resisted the urge to lean forward, instead relaxing back in the chair like she was perfectly comfortable there, and didn’t need to make much effort to accommodate him. “No? Well, it _has_ been a while since I was last in town.”

“Are you here on vacation?” Martin pressed.

“A business trip,” Rachel clarified. “I won’t be turning _these_ receipts in for reimbursement, though.”

Martin tried not to smile too much. “Are you a freelancer?”

Rachel gave him a long, cold look, then uncrossed her legs—not in a sexy _Basic Instinct_ way, just so she could finally lean forward a bit. “Sorry, what did you say?” she asked, reserved. “I couldn’t quite hear you over the music.”

Martin chose not to take the hint. “I asked if you were a freelancer.”

“That’s what I thought you said,” Rachel told him icily. She drained the rest of her drink, picked up Jeremy’s, and stood as if to walk away in disgust.

“Hang on, I mean no offense—“ Martin insisted, reaching out to take her arm. Jeremy was there in an instant, snarling and cutting between the two of them.

“Easy, easy, tiger,” Rachel soothed, clipping the leash back to his collar. “This club’s just gone downhill since we were here last.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” Martin told her. “Please, sit back down. Let me buy you a drink.”

Rachel supposed _this_ drink was even more imaginary than the last, since the bartender was now playing someone else; but she acquiesced and sat back down. “Tiger,” she prompted, when Jeremy still loomed over Martin with a distrustful expression. He knelt down on the floor in between them. “Did you wash your hands?” Rachel asked and he nodded. “Good boy. Here’s your drink.”

“I definitely don’t remember _him_ ,” Martin added in an admiring tone.

Rachel frowned and broke character. “Are you supposed to notice him?”

“Well, if he does something noticeable,” Martin replied dryly, “like growl at me. But you can give compliments or something. Like you would with someone’s pet, but don’t go on and on.”

Rachel nodded. “And if you say something nice about mine, I respond with something nice about yours?”

“You can,” Martin shrugged. “We wouldn’t come to the club if we didn’t want our subs to be noticed, but some people like attention more than others.”

Rachel considered this. “Hey, yours is cute, too,” she told him, indicating Leah. “You do anything special to protect her knees?” she queried, since Leah was wearing a miniskirt. “My G‑d, one piece of broken glass on this floor and you’d be getting tetanus shots for the rest of—“ Jeremy tugged lightly on his leash. “Oh sorry,” Rachel realized. “Where were we?”

“Do you like sports?” Martin asked unexpectedly. “Basketball?”

“Sure,” Rachel answered.

“Did you see the Knicks-Heat game last night?”

“It wasn’t so much a game as Amateur Night. In kindergarten,” Rachel opined, deeply disgusted.

They talked about basketball for a few minutes, which Rachel thought was an odd diversion, but then she realized Jeremy was getting bored and restless beside her. Probably, he was just pretending; she could imagine him sitting perfectly still for hours if he wanted to. She reached over to stroke the back of his head, to assure him she hadn’t forgotten about him. That settled him for a minute, but then he tugged on the leash and indicated he wanted to change position. “Sure, go ahead,” Rachel allowed, not interrupting her conversation.

That mollified him for another couple of minutes, but he was looking around the room, tugging on his collar, making faces at Leah. Rachel hoped this was just a simulation of what might happen after an hour or so, and not just a few minutes.

“Well, it was nice to meet you,” Rachel said to Martin. The somewhat abrupt conclusion of their conversation startled him. She stood and Jeremy scrambled up as well. “I think we’re going to go dance, if they have dancing in places like this.”

“Uh, hang on,” Martin replied. “You’re just leaving?”

“Well, he’s getting bored,” Rachel explained, indicating Jeremy.

“It can be boring being a sub,” Leah pointed out. “That’s part of the challenge. If he starts to get restless while you’re busy, you have to remind him to be still.”

“Well, I did that already,” Rachel told them. She knew they hadn’t missed any interaction between her and Jeremy, probably even ones she hadn’t realized were happening. “But now he’s at his limit and the next step is making a scene.” Jeremy nodded in agreement. “And honestly, my, er, long-time buddy is way more important to me than some random guy I just met at a club,” she added, “so yeah, I’m gonna end the conversation if he doesn’t have anything to do.”

“I _told_ you she would be better at this,” Jeremy said smugly, and Rachel glanced over her shoulder in annoyance.

“Did I say you could speak?” she asked him. “And if we’re just standing here, get back down.” He did.

“Okay, well…” Martin conceded. “Let’s try some other scenarios.”


End file.
